


From The Other Side

by thewinterspy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Post-Break Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2015-10-24
Packaged: 2018-04-27 23:19:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5068759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewinterspy/pseuds/thewinterspy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her kitchen is so empty without his experiments; she wants to say. Her hand is so cold without his.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From The Other Side

**Author's Note:**

> Based off Adele's new single "Hello". Love yourself, go listen.

"Sherlock Holmes. Leave a message, don't be boring."

 

It's so cold that her breath comes out as a cloud. Her hair feels like the tip of a knife beside her cheek. She puts her free hand into her pocket.

 

Calling him, like breaking his heart, was a mistake. She hangs up before the beep, and puts her mobile away. She was going to regret not grabbing her gloves. She had a long way to walk yet.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

"Sherlock Holmes. Leave a message, don't be boring."

 

She closes her eyes, unable to stop the tears. The gun jolts, the sharp order comes to say something. But her neck pushes in on itself, closing right underneath her jaw, right above the lump in her throat. Crying feels like she's ripping herself apart.

 

They thought she could be used to get to him. Oh, they weren't wrong. They just didn't know how useful she was when it came to hurting him.

 

"I swear to god, tell 'im how much he's gotta give or we'll find another you. How about that old one, boys? Reckon he'll come for the landla-"

 

There's a slam of the door, and the room is suddenly welling with people. The gun goes away, the criminal's put in handcuffs. Someone comes and takes her into their arms, escorting her out, assuring her that she's safe.

 

She's saved, just not by him.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

"Sherlock Holmes. Leave a message, don't be boring."

 

Toby rubs against her ankle again. He's gotten very affectionate lately. He knows something is wrong. Oh goodness, when isn't something wrong?

 

It's not right. This is just cruel. He wasn't there for her - she wasn't there for him. It was all such a wreck of a dynamic. She looks down at the cat, who's already curling up on the kitchen tile. With a long sigh, she puts her phone down and sits down on the chilly floor with Toby. She reaches out for his head, and the cat places himself underneath her palm for a rub.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

"Sherlock Holmes. Leave a message, don't be boring."

 

"Sounds hot."

 

She barely hears it over the bar's pounding music and the sudden uproar of laughter coming from the table beside them, but she hears it nonetheless, and it earns her new friend Margaret an amused look. The other woman, the secretary from the new clinic, smiles and tilts the phone back for her to take. Her gaze stays on the mobile, his name still displayed on the screen. She takes a half second to linger before shutting off the line. The other woman seems to notice the way her eyes fog over, because her cheeky grin fades. It's the same intuition most women seem to have for each other. It's a hive mind that men couldn't even begin to puncture, a possessiveness to protect their tribe. Margaret puts her hand over hers, and gives a tight smile.

 

"But I think you're better off," Margaret decides, lightening the mood. It earns a laugh, to which her smile brightens, and she waves a waitress over, "We're celebrating my friend's singlehood. Fetch some more of these, yeah?"

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Sherlock Holmes. Leave a message, don’t be boring.”

 

Her mouth twitches as she holds up the magazine properly. His face glowers at her from the front cover, right behind the blazed words DEERSTALKER CRACKS ANOTHER CASE. She’d have to let him know, he’d always pitch the most adorable fit over it.

 

She’s already at the check-out by the time she falters. She pays for her groceries and leaves the zine with the cashier.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

"Sherlock Holmes. Leave a message, don't be boring."

 

Her kitchen is so empty without his experiments; she wants to say. Her hand is so cold without his. His coat never fit but she loved how it felt that night when she forgot hers, she wants to say. She's no poet but how many things about love could she write for him? She wants to tell him she lied about not caring about him. But wouldn't that be a lie? If she cared so much she wouldn't have built this wall for him.

 

She knew how long he took to tear them down. He put his blood, sweat, and tears into letting her in, and it turned out it was only for her to bring in better bricks. Something in her head tells her to stop being so melodramatic, but his face still haunts her. When she ended it, his face, so open and vulnerable, fell apart. She's no better than the bullet that embedded itself in his torso. She's just as difficult to pull out.

 

The guilt's made a home in her, and she can't sleep with the weight of it on her chest.

 

Her bed is so empty without him; she wants to say.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

"Molly, it's me. I know... I should have called sooner. I know what you said, and I don't care. We need to meet. We have to meet. I don't believe you, that you're... you lied. I was just _stupid_ enough to believe it, but that should show... you're the blind spot, Molly. Everything is just part of the work except for you. You're the one thing, the one person... You have to come back- call back-"

 

He huffs impatiently, and drops the hand clutching the mobile. He, feeling clumsy but too undone to stop himself, puts his hand over his eyes. What a fool he was, coming here, to this place, this bench, sitting in the same spot he had before. This was wrong. This was his body betraying his mind. This was the universe finding him speaking out of turn, stepping out of line, and punishing him accordingly. Life wasn't simply life. It was simply finding the next case, the next crime, the next answer, and there were no answers here.

 

But then her hand touches his cheek, and he knows, looking up at this beautiful, beautiful woman, that he doesn't need answers. He already knows the answer. He has to ask though. His hand moves, taking her wrist between his thumb and his index finger.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

"Sherlock Hooper-Holmes. Leave a message, don't be boring."

 

 

 

* * *

 


End file.
